


Warmup

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feigning sleep, Jim watches Spock dress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmup

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: "Drabble" for “spirk with crossdressing? Maybe one of them likes to wear panties and corsets” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Jim gets in that sort of halfway place between dreaming and waking, and he shuffles the blankets up tighter around him, feeling cold. The normal personal heater that lies beside him isn’t there—he can’t feel it. He reaches out with one arm to check, cutting through the darkness and just finding more blankets and sheets and an empty bed. Spock’s side is empty. 

Breathing out heavily in the sleepy version of a sigh, Jim yawns and peeks one eye open. It’s still dark, but visible—the lights are around fifteen percent. He considers barking at them to go brighter, but then he thinks he’d rather just sleep, and if Spock knows he’s awake, he’ll be dragged into getting up. ...And if he stays in bed, maybe Spock will make him breakfast. 

Smiling into the pillow, Jim curls back up and considers drifting back to sleep. It’s that or pretend to be asleep and watch Spock get dressed through the darkness; it wouldn’t be the first time. It’s Spock’s own fault, really. He knows Jim’s got a voyeuristic streak, and he still always changes right next to the bed with the lights partially on. Plus, he’s really too handsome to resist. All his fault. 

The toilet from the bathroom flushes, then the sonic sink’s turned on. Boyfriend located. Jim lies where he is, eyes mostly closed, and sleepily runs through the day’s itinerary. Shifts starts at—

No, wait; he’s off today. He and Spock both. Last night’s musing comes back to him: what lucky timing. Back on Earth, it’s Valentine’s Day. Not that Spock would know or care. But it’s enough for Jim, and he remembers looking forward, is still looking forward, to taking a walk with Spock through the artificial gardens and sharing a sugary meal and, for once, leaving the bridge behind. Today’s going to be special, even if Spock doesn’t know it. 

Spock wanders back through the room, weaving to his side of the bed, just in Jim’s line of sight. Jim can’t risk moving his head, can’t risk opening his eyes too wide, can’t even risk any reaction; his breathing must remain steady. Spock’s too observant, sometimes. But Spock has his back to Jim. He’s down to the black boxers he went to bed in—he must have pulled them on last night after Jim tore them away to thoroughly ravish Spock’s naked body. Jim’s still naked; as far as he’s concerned, fabric should never come between him and his t’hy’la. 

It’s disappearing, now. Spock’s thumbs hook in the grey hem, and he’s pushing it down his hips. Jim squints through the low light, taking in each newly exposed, pale centimeter of Spock’s taut ass. Jim knows it like the back of his hand, but that doesn’t make it any less fun to stare at every chance he gets. He watches the underwear be shuffled down and stepped out of, and Spock takes a step forward, bending to open one of his drawers and fish through the contents. It sticks his ass further out at an attractive angle, and Jim has to resist the incredible urge to scoot forward and grab it. 

A few seconds later, Spock straightens out, having found his hidden garments. He takes a seat on the bed, and Jim’s eyes flicker up to his straight black hair. Spock’s fixated forwards on whatever he’s holding. So Jim’s eyes inevitably stray back down to his strong ass, temptingly close and mouth-wateringly perfect. It flexes as one leg lifts, and Spock shuffles into something—probably underwear. He drops a pile of folded, indistinguishable red fabric on the bed, and gets to his feet. Spock doesn’t own any red clothes. Or didn’t, Jim thought. Jim’s suspicions are confirmed as a set of underwear is drawn back up to his ass, bright red and impossibly tight, fabric so thin and sleek that, in the right light, Jim’s sure it would be sheer. There’s a laced, black trim that lines the top and leg holes, and a little bow tied on the back. Jim’s breath holds; that’s not underwear.

Well, no, it is, but it’s not the usual briefs, not even boxers—it’s a pair of shiny new _panties_. Spock’s wearing _panties_. They cup his ass perfectly, cling to his skin and cut far too low, the holes far too high, revealing and scandalous. Jim _stares_.

Spock sits back down on the bed, reaching for the pile of fabric. The next bits he pulls out are long, definitely sheer, red and crisscrossed. Spock bends down, leg back up. Jim can’t see enough from this angle, but he can guess. Then Spock’s tugging it up his legs—it stops mid-thigh— _stockings._ Belatedly, Jim realizes he’s drooling. He licks his lips as silently as possible, while Spock fixes the other leg. Of all the kinky fetishes Jim’s pictured doing to Spock, this isn’t one he thought would ever happen. He’s never even asked. How’d Spock even guess? Of course he’s into it. On Spock, Jim’s into _everything_. It’s no secret that Jim’s bisexual and open. But he was content with a stereotypically male Spock. On special occasions, this is more than just a treat. 

Maybe Spock knows. He must know it’s Valentine’s Day; it’s the only explanation. He knows and he’s doing this for Jim. He picks a strip of black fabric from the bed and brings it to his neck, long fingers reaching behind himself to tie it in another bow—a choker. Maybe it’ll cover his adam’s apple, or maybe it’ll draw attention to it when it bobs. Jim bites his lip—he’s going to moan and knows he can’t. Spock picks up the last thing. 

He unfolds it and holds it around his body, and Jim’s in heaven. 

It’s a corset. 

Spock’s tying himself up in a _corset_. Just for Jim. It has to be for Jim. The best damn present to unwrap. The lace is undone at the bottom hooks, and Spock threads it across and begins to tie the corset together with the sort of nimble efficiency only a Vulcan could have. He doesn’t look back; he seems to know just what he’s doing. He works his way slowly up and keeps the ribbon taut, keeps the corset tight. The boning keeps it sucked in around his waist and gives him almost feminine curves, accentuates the lines of his body beautifully. It partially covers Spock’s shoulder blades; Jim wonders if it covers his nipples too, or if they peak out over the laced brim, tantalizingly highlighted. When he’s at the very top, Spock gives one last tug to tighten the ribbon, and he sucks in a breath that Jim hungrily catches; a breathless Spock is a hard treat to win. The ribbon’s tied in a bow, and Spock’s arms slip back around to his front. He pauses, head hung. Perhaps he’s growing used to having his lungs crushed. He’s _gorgeous._

Jim has half a mind to spoil the surprise and dart out of bed now, tackle Spock and drag him back into it, fuck him hard in all his new gear. It takes a good deal of self-restraint for Jim to stay where he is. The day will be better knowing this is on the horizon, and he shouldn’t ruin Spock’s plans. 

After a minute, Spock gets up and returns to the drawers. He pulls out his usual uniform and slips into it, fiddling with and straightening it afterwards: everything perfectly ordinary. The only sign that anything’s different is his slightly shallower breath and the panty lines the lace makes through the back of his pants. When he seems satisfied with his appearance, he leaves the room without waking Jim.

Jim can only hope Spock’s making him breakfast, and he lies still, glowing, sure that he’s the luckiest man in the whole damn universe.


End file.
